


Searching love at the bottom of a bottle

by Eadwine63



Category: Gackt (Musician) - Fandom, GacktJOB, Hyde (Musician) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, This is so angsty, but also sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eadwine63/pseuds/Eadwine63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three weeks since Gackt was seen by his friends and their only consolation consisted out of the fact they all knew he wouldn't do something as stupid as to kill himself. But even men like Gackt have their limits and things spin out of control so easily, until Hyde decides to come to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching love at the bottom of a bottle

 

 

There’s yet another bottle joining the jumbled mess on the ebony table. Once, it was his favourite possession and the mere threat of a stain made him feel nervous. Now there are scratches and stains alike and he gave up caring a long time ago. Now, the only thing Gackt cares about is the ruined taste of his next bottle of alcohol. Maybe changing the kind of drink will bring back some of the flavour. He reaches out and knocks over the empty and near-empty bottles, cursing because he sees salvation and hope dripping to his carpet. The flavour never returns, not when he changes the kind of liquor, not when he changes the price-tag attached. It tastes simply like another brand of alcohol. It tastes like that in the mornings, afternoons and evenings. Gackt came to hate the moments of sobriety in between it all, when he felt everything ten times as intense. The headaches on top of everything else. The all-consuming loneliness. The goddamn, fucking loneliness. He forgot when he started drinking, or when it got out of hand; probably when the thought crossed his mind that a hangover would be much easier to deal with than the pain he felt gnawing at his chest.

He’s lost his sense of time. He sleeps whenever he passes out – more often on the floor or on the sofa than in his bed. He wakes up with a foul taste in his mouth, but washes it away with another swig of vodka. He doesn’t know how many days have passed since he last realised time must have inevitably gone on. The realisation that he’s merely locking himself away inside his own home asks for another few drinks. He doesn’t want to reach understanding, nor does he want to see anyone’s pity or disappointment. He hasn’t seen anyone in so long that it feels like a dream when suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Gacchan.”

So soft, that voice. It hurts his ears still. He can feel the warmth of the other man’s leg pressing against his on the sofa. He can feel the tingling his fingers leave on his cheek and he wonders how long the other has been there without him noticing even the slightest change. He doesn’t wonder how the other man got here, but gets an answer nonetheless.

“Emergency key. I  never thought there’d be an emergency.”

Hyde holds up the tiny key, adorned with a little chain and a kitty-charm that seems oddly suitable. Gackt doesn’t answer; he still doesn’t believe Hyde is really here. The other man sits even closer, wrapping an arm – and then both his arms – around Gackt. They sit in silence while Hyde doesn’t even mention the mess on the table or the smell that reaches his nose. He merely embraces his friend for a while longer.

“It’s been three weeks,” Hyde whispers the words in Gackt’s ear. “Your friends worry.” And they have reason to worry, don’t they? The unspoken end of his question lingers between them. Gackt has never acted like this in his life. He’s never relinquished his control this much.

He gives up even more of that precious control when he takes Hyde’s face in his hands and kisses him, making the other man tense up completely. Yet, he doesn’t pull back immediately. He lets the kiss happen and feels the desperation. He feels Gackt’s pure need to be held, and wraps his arms around him a bit tighter. Gackt leaves his lips in peace and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

“Sleep it off, Gacchan.”

“Come to bed with me,” he replies with a voice that sounds like his vocal chords have actually cracked. Hyde hesitates, but cannot refuse Gackt anything. Especially not now. He all but hoists him up and they stumble to the bedroom together. Gackt can barely stand up straight and Hyde is glad when the weight of the taller man drops down on the bed. He sits next to him, but is soon pulled down and subjected to another bad-tasting kiss that has Hyde pull away this time.

“Gacchan, please don’t.”

“Please.” His hands start to roam. They slip under Hyde’s shirt, cold and sweaty. Hyde shivers, but feels his heart break when he has to push his friend away. Gackt is persistent, even when he’s this drunk. Hyde finds himself wishing he’s only drunk on alcohol and not high on something else. “Sleep with me.”

Hyde has to blink at the question, even though Gackt’s lips are pressed to his neck and his fingers are caressing his bare skin. He can’t find it in him to answer; afraid to reject his friend because he already looks so rejected, but not stupid enough to say yes. His lack of reply has Gackt all but crawl on top of him. He pins Hyde to the bed with his weight, presses kisses to his cheek, to his neck. His hands roam his chest and when they start to travel down, Hyde kicks and uses the momentum to get out of the bed. Had Gackt not been drunk, he’d have been unable to do much. But if Gackt had not been drunk, he wouldn’t have tried something this ridiculous.

He leaves Gackt in the bedroom and being too drunk to follow, Gackt falls back down on the mattress. He listens to the sounds Hyde makes in his house. He thought he’d leave, but he’s still here. There’s the sound of glass bottles being tossed into a bin. There’s the sound of water running, dishes being cleaned. Hyde cleans his living room and Gackt falls asleep.

The next thing Gackt becomes aware of, is the pounding headache and the sound of the radio, dimmed by the door. But it’s there already, assaulting his head, adding to the misery. He needs a drink. Gackt gets up out of bed, swaying, supporting himself with his hand on the wall while he walks to the living room. It takes long to get there, and when he does, it doesn’t look like his living room. Or it looks like his living room used to look like. Neat, clean. There’s the smell of coffee. And the sound of the radio is much louder. He rubs his temples, opens the liquor cabinet, only to find it empty. He stumbles to the kitchen, finds Hyde sipping at his coffee. He looks up to meet his eyes, with a faint smile on his lips; had Gackt been a little more sober, he’d realised the embarrassment in his eyes. There was no pity, although every emotion in Hyde’s eyes could easily have been mistaken for pity.

“Aspirin on the counter,” he says. Gackt eyes the little tablets and the glass of water Hyde has set out for him. He wonders briefly how long it’s been there, what time it is and how long exactly Hyde has been here. Gackt feels way too sober.

“I just need a drink,” he mutters and opens a cabinet, only to close it. He opens the fridge, but finds nothing he needs. Hyde is silent as Gackt continues to look for something – anything – that contains alcohol.

“I threw everything out,” he says as soon as Gackt looks at him helplessly. Then he gets up, reaches up to Gackt’s fear-stricken face. “You don’t need a drink, Gacchan. You need to face the pain.”

Gackt rubs his temples again, trying to get rid of the ache that’s nagging at him. But it goes farther than his head. It’s nestled in his entire body. It hurts so badly. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to be reminded, but all Hyde does is remind him. He reminds him when he embraces him again, reminds him when he whispers in his ear.

“I just need a bit,” he says again and Hyde shakes his head. “Please.”

Hyde feels like his heart is breaking all over again, like it did when Gackt pleaded for something else last night. It’s hard to deny him anything, when he looks so listless and broken. Hyde knows he has no other choice than to hurt his friend just that little bit more.

Three weeks ago, a funeral was held. Gackt never showed up to honour his best friend and from that moment on, no one managed to get a hold of him. The only way they managed to make sure Gackt was still alive, was because they couldn’t imagine Gackt doing something as desperate as committing suicide. After countless phone calls, Gackt had picked up his phone. Only once, without even really realising he’d picked up the phone. He’d been drunk and angry. Three weeks later, Hyde found out about Gackt’s disappearance from the world and cleared everything on his schedule to see him.

“You need to feel the pain,” Hyde whispers again. “It’s meant to hurt. No one expects you to be strong, Gacchan. You’re not made of stone.”

“I am. All those months … I never went to see him. He’s my best friend, Hyde.”

Hyde is silent. He didn’t know Gackt had stopped visiting You in the hospital after the first time he’d collapsed. No one had even known of the illness that was slowly consuming You from the inside out. He’d only learned from the letter he found between the countless bottles on the ebony table in the living room, stained with wine and whatever else Gackt had poured into a glass the first few days. You’s last words to Gackt. They had expressed regret, guilt, the love everyone had seen between them. You had talked about how he wanted to tell him he’d been so in love with him for years. How he’d wanted to be selfish and ask for a kiss so he’d fall asleep in peace. ‘Dying is scary, Gaku.’

“He wrote me. The letter got held up and only got here after ...”

“I know, Gacchan. I found it.”

“I couldn’t take it. Seeing him die … I couldn’t.” Hyde can feel him cry. He can feel the shivers that go through his body. They stand in the kitchen, embracing a little awkwardly because of their height difference. It feels like Gackt is holding him, instead of the other way around, but his grip is so tight that Hyde knows that at least he’s a support right now.

“He wanted you to know how he felt,” Hyde says. You had written that he had not needed his love to be returned, but had simply wanted Gackt to know the extent of his feelings. He had told him that staying silent was what he regretted most, even though he knew his feelings wouldn’t have been reciprocated. He left Gackt with some sound advice as well. ‘Your heart had been stolen already, so don’t keep silent, Gaku.’

Those words, those painful reminders of the vulnerability of life, resounded in both Hyde’s and Gackt’s mind. Gackt’s head is spinning. His heart aches. He lets go of Hyde and stares at the floor.

“I’ve been a worthless friend.”

“You’re a man, Gacchan. You feel. You make mistakes. But you haven’t been a worthless friend to anyone. Especially not to You. But if you feel sorry, write him a letter in reply to his. Don’t keep silent.”

“You read it, didn’t you? Completely.” Hyde nods. Gackt swallows, remembering what was in that letter word for word. Even though he’d been drunk more often than not in the past few weeks, he remembered it clearly. You’s words, his confessions. The mention of Hyde’s name; a confession of love spun on nights Gackt had felt heartache, unaware of You’s own.

“Maybe that was wrong,” Hyde says. “But there wasn’t anything in there I didn’t already know, or suspect. Gacchan, You-kun will forgive you if you want to be forgiven.” Hyde knows very well that You has understood Gackt more than anyone else ever has. He’d have known the reason Gackt couldn’t come visit him in the hospital. He’ll know the guilt Gackt feels, and the regrets. If anyone would forgive Gackt, it would be You.

In the days that follow, there are tears and sobs that make Gackt’s entire body convulse. There are moments of utter silence, and there are moments Hyde thinks Gackt’s cries are going to be heard outside. There are the moments Gackt shouts and blames Hyde, for being here, for taking away the alcohol when he needs it most. But through it all, there are moments Gackt simply seeks out Hyde’s presence without question. All the while, Hyde holds him, takes care of him. He draws him baths and lays out fresh clothes, cooks him simple meals and brings him tea. He never sleeps in Gackt’s bed, and Gackt never asks him to either. Just when Hyde thinks what happened between them will be lost between the alcohol, and simply be forgotten, Gackt is the one to bring it up again.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” he says out of the blue one day, when he’s sitting at the kitchen table. He sounds so much more like himself already, Hyde thinks. He looks better, even though the pain in his eyes is ever-present. “And everything else.”

“It’s alright, Gacchan. Really.”  Even though Hyde still feels uncomfortable when he thinks of Gackt’s forceful, foul-tasting kisses. He still feels the shiver coursing through his spine when Gackt’s hands travelled his body in uncoordinated, hasty touches. Drunken desperation isn’t something Hyde wants to experience in Gackt, especially not in touches of that kind. Any intimacy between them should stem from something else – because according to Hyde, it truly does stem from something else. Some part of him whispers at the back of his mind, that maybe if Gackt hadn’t been drunk, he’d have said yes. Just like he knew all those years ago that he’d have said yes – even though he was thankful there had never been a question to answer to.

He can’t usually deny his friend much, especially not when he’s in pain. Especially not when he means so much to Hyde. He’s been here for days now. He wonders if Gackt knows how much he cares, but Hyde himself doesn’t really know the extent of his feelings. He shies away from them, for reasons that should be quite obvious. Only, sometimes they aren’t all that obvious.

“I wish kissing you had meant something. I’ve thought about it so often … and it was never this meaningless.”

“A few days ago, I told you you’d be forgiven. We all forgive you for whatever you feel the need to be forgiven for. All that’s left is to forgive yourself, Gackt. The past can’t be changed, no matter how much we’d like to change it. You can only act in the present.”

Gackt wonders what that means; he wonders if it means letting go of the past, if it means forgetting what happened. He doesn’t think he’s ready to forget. He’ll never be ready to forget You and the way he left this world. He’ll never forget the drunken kiss he gave Hyde, nor the touches that would have gone much too far if Hyde hadn’t pushed him away.

“Hold the good memories in your heart,” Hyde says and walks over to his friend. “And create new memories to overshadow the ones you hate. You were drunk and lonely. As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t kissed me. My Gacchan hasn’t kissed me.”

Hyde can barely conceal the ache he feels in his chest. He wants Gackt to know he’s ready to forget every misplaced touch, even though he can feel phantom sensations when he thinks about it. He can feel Gackt’s lips on his in a faint kiss that never happened. He can feel loving touches that were never shared between them. He fantasises about something that might still happen, not about something that has already happened.

Looking down at Gackt, he almost feels the heavy atmosphere that presses down on the other man’s shoulders. He slumps in his chair, unable to look Hyde in the eyes. As if he’s still ashamed – and Hyde hates it when Gackt feels ashamed of something that involves him.

“Would you forgive yourself at least for kissing me, if I make our kiss worth-while?”

“Worth-while?”

Hyde can only try, so he leans down and brings their lips together in a sweet kiss that no longer tastes of alcohol. Gackt’s breath carries a faint smell of cigarettes and Hyde briefly wonders if Gackt’s lips will be as addictive as the tobacco they both can’t give up.

Seconds tick by as their lips move so slowly you’d barely call it a kiss. They’re tasting, feeling. They’re discovering. Gackt’s fingers, otherwise so eager to move and explore, are lifeless on the kitchen table. Hyde’s lips are moist and soft, Gackt’s a little chapped. Hyde brushes his lips against Gackt’s, touches their noses together. He smiles softly and starts to whisper Gackt’s name, but the sound gets lost in their breaths somewhere half-way.

And Hyde whispers, “I’ve kept silent far too long, too.” 


End file.
